MAXWELL’S POV
Checking the bottle of Pinot Noir on the kitchen island three times in the last ten minutes confirmed it was open and breathing. Being a vintage that cost more than my first car didn't stop the overwhelming urge to drink it straight from the bottle just to calm the nerves jumping aggressively under my skin.
Refusing to drink it, leaving it untouched next to two crystal glasses was an exercise in pure restraint.
Pacing the length of the living room caused my dress shoes to click rhythmically against the hardwood floor.
Click. Click. Turn. Click. Click. Turn.
Stopping at the floor to ceiling window to look out at the city revealed the rain had finally stopped, leaving Manhattan slick and glittering brightly under the streetlights. Somewhere down there in the maze of yellow
